Sport or Not? Allergies

It starts off like any other morning — the slow rise to a gentle, non-disruptive alarm, the sun just peeking through, your roommate’s cinnamon oatmeal ushering you into a new day. It’s almost as though today could be given a title: perfect — perfect enough to open a window, your roommate may think. A victory short lived, as the gentle breeze creeps in and you are drafted into a familiar war. 

A sneeze or two wouldn’t be out of the ordinary, until suddenly, you can no longer breathe. Clogged is the only descriptor mustered as tears well up in your eyes. What follows is an itch unable to be satisfied, no matter how deep you dig your nails across your face, throat and arms. Your body will flare red, but writhing around on the floor is the most optimal self-soothing tactic. 

Zyrtec, Claritin and Flonase; antihistamines amok! The war wages between your body’s overreaction and the copious drugs coursing through your veins, as you are forced to trudge to class, tissues and eye drops in each hand, taking refuge indoors and running at the slightest gust that carries pollen your way. Thousands of years of evolution, a body indestructible against plague, succumbing to the mere ingestion of pollinating ragweed. Defeat fails to capture the deepest of failures that fester inside you, biologically beyond what your brain could even comprehend. There is no stopping spring once it has sprung. Now, wave your white flag, find your nearest deity and pray for mercy.